


Happy Ever After

by NightsMistress



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Catching Hurt Character as They Collapse, F/M, Protectiveness, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/pseuds/NightsMistress
Summary: Fritz's happy ending includes his protecting the woman he loved from an assassination attempt, even if it means risking his life to save hers.(Lucette is less than thrilled.)





	Happy Ever After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonster/gifts).



The first that Lucette knew of the assassin was when Fritz threw himself in front of her. She staggered backwards as Fritz’s movement threw her off-balance and into the wall. The stone was rough, catching at her clothing and skin, and roused her from her stunned incomprehension. She shook her head and looked into the corridor.

At some point, Fritz must have drawn his sword with his non-dominant hand,, as his dominant hand was hanging by his side uselessly. She could see blood on his arm and his side, as well as on the walls and floor, staining the fabric of his clothes and the stone of the walls a dark red that was almost black in the poor light. She thought that his injuries could not be too serious as his stance was as perfect as Lucette had ever seen it, even using his non-dominant hand. He parried the knife the assassin wielded with practised ease, never giving an inch of ground despite the assassin’s efforts.

If Fritz’s fighting was polished and efficient, the assassin’s was wild and desperate. Lucette only knew the rudiments of the blade, but she knew enough to recognize that this person’s determination was matched by their absence of skill. Their attacks were too savage and uncontrolled to be anything other than the instinctive waving of a knife. If it weren’t for the dull gray cloak that covered them, it would be a laughably poor assassination attempt; the cloak suggested that they at least understood the importance of stealth.

With the difference of skill between them, Fritz’s disarming of the assassin was an inevitable conclusion. He stepped inside the assassin’s reach to catch the knife on the hilt of his sword, and then popped it out of the assassin’s grip. The knife fell to the floor. The sound of the knife striking the stone echoed horribly in the tense, silent moment as both Lucette and the assassin eyed off the blade.

Lucette moved first, pushing off against the wall to lend her additional momentum as she raced toward the blade. She ignored Fritz’s gasped instructions to stay where she was behind him and put her foot onto the blade to pin it in place. The assassin froze in place before slowly taking four steps backward. There was no one between her and her attempted killer and she glared them down as she caught her breath. She was breathless with fury; how dare this person attack her in her own home?

The assassin was either a woman of average height or a short man, dressed in clothing all in the same muted gray as the cloak. Their face and hair was covered by a scarf, and in the torchlight her eyes kept thinking that they were nothing more than a shadow. It was an illusion of sorts, though only an optical one and not a magical one, and it reinforced her suspicion that whoever had sent them knew too much about the castle and her movements. It was a disquieting thought, but she would have to leave questions to the captain of the guard.

Or, at least, all except one.

“Who are you?” Lucette demanded. “Who sent you to kill me?”

The assassin shrugged, a stiff and awkward movement that looked incongruous with their actions earlier. Lucette waited. The silence stretched on painfully, Lucette glaring down at her attacker, until the assassin’s will broke first.

“Does it matter?” The assassin’s voice was low and quiet, and unfamiliar to Lucette. “I do as Angielle needs, and she needs better than a witch with a heart of stone as crown princess.”

Lucette drew herself up to her full height, sucking a breath in through gritted teeth.

“I won’t argue statesmanship or succession with someone too cowardly to show their face,” she replied, her voice cold and stony. “I suggest you surrender to Sir Fritzgerald. Do so now. Waiting will only make things worse for you.”

The assassin laughed and shook their head in exaggerated disbelief. Lucette’s hands balled into fists at the rudeness but didn’t move from her position pinning the knife in place. The knife must be important, otherwise they would have left immediately, and Lucette was loathe to let such an important clue to their identity slip away.

“Ever the ice-cold princess,” the assassin sneered. “You should pay better attention to your dog before forcing him to bite.”

She had wondered why Fritz had not intervened by now. As a trained knight, he knew how to detain criminals, even with Lucette’s impetuous interruption. Something must be wrong, and she was afraid to look to see what that would be.

“I dislike riddles,” Lucette retorted, forcing herself to speak loudly to cover her growing anxiety. “Speak plainly.”

The only answer was a pained gasp which didn’t come from either of them. It came from behind Lucette. Lucette knew who it had to be from, and dread made her turn her head to look behind her.

Fritz was leaning against the stone wall as if it were the only thing holding him upright, his right side soaked in blood. The wall was slick with his blood too, as was the floor. There was so much of it, and Lucette’s breath caught in her throat as she struggled to understand what this meant. Everything fell away apart from Fritz’s bloodless face, sweaty and twisted in pain, and she took a staggering step toward him. She could hear the footsteps of the assassin, the scrape of the knife blade against the stone, and didn’t care. Everything outside of Fritz’s ragged panting seemed utterly inconsequential.

“Fritz,” Lucette asked, her voice small. “How hurt are you?”

He didn’t answer her, which was answer enough.

Lucette approached him, cautious of the blood pooling at their feet, ready to lend him a shoulder to help him walk to the nearest doctor. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed and he collapsed in a dead faint. Lucette caught him awkwardly, her knees buckling under the strain of his full weight. It was all she could do to slow their descent and prevent him from striking his head on the floor.

Their landing was heavy, and Lucette bore the brunt of it. She gritted her teeth against the pain, forcing herself to breathe through it. They had landed in a tangle of limbs, Lucette’s shoulders against the wall, and Fritz half-sprawled on her that was very uncomfortable. That was as much thought as she spared on the matter, as she brushed Fritz’s sweaty, blood-matted hair from his face. He looked even worse than before, his face bloodless and lips tinged blue. He looked like he was dying.

“Help!” Her voice echoed through the corridors, until it seemed almost absurd that no one had not immediately rushed to their aid. She had dismissed her guard earlier that day, ordering them to believe that she would be safe inside her own castle. She didn’t think that they would have gone so far away as to not hear her when she called for help. She called again, and again, and no one came.

“Princess?”

She looked down. Fritz’s eyes were open, and he was looking around them with dark, dazed eyes. She took his cold hand in hers, holding tight against his slack, bloodied grip.

“They heard you,” he said, his voice worn thin. “The bell’s ringing.”

Now that she was listening, Lucette could hear the tolling of a bell and knew it was the summoning of the guard. She burst into tears, and hated herself for it.

“Don’t strain yourself,” she managed.

Fritz shuddered in her lap, but didn’t cry out. He managed a wan smile up at Lucette.

“There’s no need to cry,” he said raggedly, reaching up to brush her cheek clumsily with his blood-soaked hand. “Everything will be fine in a minute.”

“Don’t lie to make me feel better,” Lucette said heatedly. “It won’t work. I know you’re not fine at all. Look at how much blood you’ve lost!”

Fritz angled his head and blinked slowly at her.

“Oh,” he breathed finally. “I’ve ruined your dress.”

“I don’t care about that,” Lucette said, her voice sharp with alarm. She could feel the blood soaking into her clothes, hot and wet with a presence that made her stomach turn. “I have other dresses. Stay quiet until help comes.”

“At least I saved you,” Fritz said, fainter than before. His eyes fluttered closed once more.

Lucette waited for him to say something more, to clarify what he meant, to explain why he had that faint, satisfied smile. He didn’t.

“Don’t act like you won’t do it again,” she said, choking on her tears. “You’re not dying. I won’t allow it.”

There was no magic in Angielle anymore. Lucette had seen to that herself. She wished anyway, concentrating entirely on Fritz’s limp body, and willed that if she had any magic left inside her, that she spend it all to keep him alive. She didn’t allow herself to consider any other option than his living; his loyalty and devotion should not be rewarded by his dying for her but his living with her. She would not accept anything less.

“Your Highness? Are you all right?”

It was one of the guards talking, a new recruit who Lucette had not met before. She was trying to untangle Fritz from Lucette, but was being slowed down by Lucette’s grip on his hand. Lucette stared, unable to comprehend what she meant, before holding onto Fritz more tightly.

“No, I won’t let him go.”

“Your Highness, please forgive me.” Her grip was broken by the guard. “He needs a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Lucette blinked and shuddered. “He’s alive?”

“Yes,” the guard said, grunting as she picked Fritz up in a fireman’s hold. Fritz didn’t react to the movement, and his limp weight hanging in the guard’s arms made Lucette feel faint as she watched the guard run down the corridor in a sprint.

“Are you injured, Your Highness?” Another guard steadied her at her elbow, carefully solicitous of her personal space.

“I’m fine,” Lucette managed in a mouth that felt wooden and unable to move. “None of the blood is mine.”

“Our apologies for taking as long as we did to come to your aid,” the guard captain said. “One of my soldiers saw a suspicious person leave the castle. You can rest assured that we’ll find that person and question them thoroughly.”

“Thank you,” Lucette said distantly. She took a breath to steady herself and asked in a voice that felt stronger, “I’d like an escort to see Sir Fritzgerald once he’s been treated.”

“Of course.” The captain turned to the other guards. “You, accompany the queen,” he said, pointing to a female guard. “The rest of you, I want searching for that assassin. I want them found! No one harms the crown princess on our watch.”

The knights dispersed with the exception of Lucette’s new escort. She folded her arms against the chill in her chest and said as calmly as she could, “Before we visit Sir Fritzgerald, I’d like to change my clothes.”

The guard looked at her and Lucette wondered whether the silence was because her request was selfish. She had spent so long struggling with doing good deeds that she was still uncertain whether she was doing good or ill.

“That’s understandable,” the guard said, her voice gentler than Lucette had expected. “It’ll take time for the doctors to do their work.”

A good deed then. If only she had still been cursed, then she would have known for certain. On the other hand, had she still been cursed, then Fritz wouldn’t have been hurt protecting her life. She smiled thinly at her own inane observation and started to walk to her chambers, her escort shadowing her footsteps.

***

When the castle was rebuilt after the war, the first room to be modified was the infirmary. It was therefore light and airy, located to catch the early afternoon breezes and the morning sun. Several beds were inside, all neatly made up with undyed cotton bed linen that complemented the dark stain of the wooden bed frames. Wooden chairs with plush cushions were available for visitors to use, and the glass vase with an arrangement of white lilies. In every little touch, the infirmary was meant to be soothing and comforting. Lucette found it to be neither. She sat, ramrod straight, on the chair nearest to Fritz’s bed, and forced herself to read the petitions she had brought with her to occupy her mind.

Lucette had been exquisitely trained in all manner of etiquette necessary for a crown princess. Her mother had ensured that she knew the correct way to greet a foreign diplomat with reference to their domestic title, the precise depth of her curtsy to show polite disdain, and the proper sequence of steps for a ball’s first dance. Nowhere had she been shown how to compose herself during a bedside vigil; in fact, she couldn’t recall either of her parents ever being by her side when she was ill. She thought it might be cold to continue her duties at her lover’s side, but with little to compare it to, she couldn’t be sure.

Fritz was unaware of her discomfort. His breathing was steady and slow, a far cry from the ragged and shallow pants of before. While he was still pale, his jaw was no longer clenched and the tension had drained from his face. If it wasn’t for the bandages wrapped around his arm and bare chest, he would have looked like he was sleeping peacefully.

His easy rest came about from the potion resting on the bedside table. Lucette had been told that Fritz would drift in and out of consciousness, and that if he experienced pain she should help him drink it. She looked up from her petitions every time there was a slight hitch or irregularity in his breathing, wondering if this was the time that he was going to awaken. So far, it had not been, and all that her frayed nerves had achieved was her reading the same sentence several times before she understood what it had said. If the assassination attempt had made something clear, it was that Lucette had to cement her position in Angielle, and quickly.

Fritz’s breathing hitched, becoming faster and shallower. Lucette looked up in consternation, wondering if he was having a nightmare. Instead, his eyes opened. He looked around the room in vague concern, clearly searching for something. When he saw her, his worried frown eased.

“You’re all right,” he said, his voice rough and pained. He smiled briefly, a faint shadow of a smile that disappeared from his face as quickly as it came. “I’m glad.”

Lucette frowned, wondering if he had forgotten everything that had happened.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked. “You were the one who was injured.”

Fritz said nothing, studying her carefully. She blushed under the scrutiny.

“What is it?” She said, when the silence dragged on too long.

“My apologies,” Fritz said. “I didn’t realise that I would have worried you this much.”

Lucette disliked being so transparent that even someone half-dead could read her mood. She pressed her lips together in annoyance, and replied by way of explanation, “I thought you were dying. Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Fritz’s mouth quirked into something between a wry smile and a smirk, a strange expression from him. “That’s a promise I can’t keep. I will always stand between you and harm.”

“And if I order you not to?”

Still, with that strange smile, he replied, “Then that’s an order I’ll have to disobey.”

Sometimes, Lucette wondered whether it was that Varg had truly gone away, or that it was that Fritz’s sweet devotion was now influenced by Varg’s dangerous aura. Or, whether it was that Lucette merely projected that onto him, knowing that Fritz was capable of being both. This was one of those times.

Fritz shifted on the pillow, shoulders straining as he tried to push himself upright. He didn’t get very far until he went ashen, collapsing back onto the pillow with a pained hiss. Lucette quickly reached for the pain-relieving potion on the bedside table, and poured a finger of it into a glass tumbler. The potion was oddly translucent with a golden sheen that reflected the light in strange ways. As she lifted the glass, an astringent smell wafted up and stung her nose. She passed it to Fritz to drink, holding the base of it to keep it steady. He drank it without query or complaint, though he made a face at the taste.

When he was done, Lucette took the glass back, placing it onto the bedside table. She then looked down at her hands, lost as to what she was supposed to do with them. It felt strange to fold them into her lap, and more importantly she wanted to touch Fritz and reassure herself that he really was alive. After a moment's hesitation, Lucette took Fritz’s good hand in her own, and was relieved that it was much warmer than before. Fritz’s eyes opened wide in surprise as he stared at her, and Lucette looked away.

“I did this before, remember?” she said stiffly. “Don’t react like that, I’m not going to eat you.”

She winced at her poor choice of words. There had never been a moment where _she_ had wanted to devour _him_.

If her words had wounded Fritz, there was no sign of it or that he had heard her at all. His grip on her hand was slack and loose, as if it was too much for him to hold on to her with the firm grasp that she knew he could ordinarily muster. He looked completely exhausted by the brief moment of wakefulness, and for all that she had been warned that this would be the case, Lucette still found it concerning. He had come too close to dying today.

“Fritz?” she asked warily.

“I’m here,” he mumbled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lucette bit back her observation that of course he wasn’t, because he couldn’t.

“I know you’re not,” she said instead. “But you should stop trying to stay awake. I’ll be fine until you’re better.”

He said nothing, already slipping back into sleep once more. She didn’t expect him to. Instead, she held his hand until night fell.


End file.
